The Beginning of the End
by TeresaJane
Summary: She had known the day would come; she just didn't know it would be so soon.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: ZOMG! I saw the preview for Blood Money! (For those of you who haven't, I am very sorry.) It looks AMAZING! Can't wait! **

**Anyway, I don't use names a lot in this one, or really explain anything, but if you are diligent little The Mentalist watchers, you should understand everything.**

**Disclaimer: Ever heard the song "I Don't Own The Mentalist"? It's my theme song. :)**

**Warnings: Character death and possible OOC.**

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**The Beginning of the End**

She felt awkward and small in the dim room. Once again, she was on the other side of the interrogation. She was probably going to crack immediately—

_Get ahold of yourself_, she thought fiercely. "Yes" and "no" answers. Oh, Lord, now she was thinking like a criminal. But she wasn't the criminal here. _He_ was. The man she loved. She didn't even know where he was now. Neither did anyone else, or he'd be behind bars right now, probably put there by her. And she would be the one conducting the interrogation, not one of her best friends doing it to her.

"How long have you known the suspect?" His indifferent expression revealed nothing—to strangers. She knew he was hurting inside. Everyone was, and she was worst of all.

"About eight years," she answered calmly. So much "yes" or "no."

"What were your feelings toward him during that time?"

A burst of pain in her chest: her heart breaking even more. "He was a coworker. Nothing more," she lied, knowing full well she could get in trouble for it.

"There were rumors that you two were having a sexual relationship. Is this true?"

Her mind flashed back in time: their first kiss, the first time they made love, their plans for the future. Ruined now, of course. His desire for her was powerful, but his desire for revenge had been more so. She remained silent, struggling to keep from crying.

"Were you having a sexual relationship with him?" he pressed.

She swallowed, kicking herself inwardly for showing weakness. "Yes," she whispered.

His eyes widened, confirming what she had thought: he hadn't known. That meant it was likely no one else had, either. Until now.

"Do you have any idea where is at this time?" he asked, staring at her intently.

"No." A single, lonely tear slid down her cheek. "He didn't even say good-bye." She barely heard herself when she said this, and was surprised when he got up and walked to her. After hesitating a moment, he embraced her.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. He left without another word.

It was the most emotion she'd ever seen him show. Unfortunately, it did the exact opposite of what those kinds of things are supposed to.

"So am I," she murmured. She put her arms on the table, laid her head on them, and began to cry quietly. Suddenly her cell phone rang. With one last sniffle, she got it out and looked at the caller I.D. Unknown Caller. Could it be…?

As soon as the possibility that it could be him crossed her mind, she answered it. "Patrick?" she asked breathlessly.

"Teresa." A voice once full of warmth was now cold. The pang in her heart returned.

"Patrick, where are you? Please, I won't tell them—"

"No. I'm trying to protect you."

"Patrick, please," she begged, on the verge of tears once more. "Please tell me."

"No."

"Why did you even call, then?"

"To say good-bye." His voice was emotionless.

"Patrick, no," she whispered. "Don't leave me, you can't."

"I have to. You know that."

"We can figure something out—"

"Teresa, please don't make this harder."

"You're the one making it harder!" she yelled. Her control was waning, fast. "Just come home. Please."

"I can't."

"But you want to," she murmured, calmer now, "don't you?"

"You know I do," he said quietly, his voice breaking. Some of the warmth that she used to love crept into his next words. "I love you."

"Then come home. We'll figure something out."

"Teresa—"

"Please. We can try."

Silence. "Okay."

She sighed in relief. "Thank you. I love you," she added.

He muttered something unintelligible.

"It's going to be okay," she said.

He mumbled again, but she managed to make out the words, "Angry_ is_ the way of the world," then, "I love you." He hung up.

One piece of her heart healed at the thought of seeing him again, even if it was for the last time. She was going against almost everything she believed in, meeting him somewhere. And she had lied—twice. She knew where he was, or had a pretty good idea: his house in Malibu. He had told her, once, what he was going to do, going into detail, and practically forcing her to listen. Eventually, he noticed that she was staring at him, shocked, confused, and scared. He kissed her then, telling her to just ignore him. But how could she ignore him when he talked like he had been killing people for his whole life?

She had known the day would come; she just didn't know it would be so soon. She thought she was helping him move on, get over his appalling need of vengeance. But it just seemed like she had made it even worse.

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**A/N: So, should I keep going? Please review, and tell me what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry, sorry, and sorry again! I have neglected this for so long! This has been typed up for awhile... SORRY! Don't kill me! Just read and review... maybe that will help... (I hope). My grampa is in the hospital right now and not doing very well so I've been caught up with that.**

**Disclaimer: I. Do. Not. Own. It. Do. You. Under. Stand?**

**Warnings: OOC (not a thing about language! I'm excited!)**

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Glancing over his shoulder once more, he crept silently to the door and knocked quickly. It opened immediately, and he was pulled inside to a flurry of kisses. He didn't respond to them, and they soon ceased.

"Patrick?" She was confused. Wearing her oversized jersey, barefooted, her expression would have been comical—had he been able to remember what that was. "What…?"

"I'm not going to get out of this." He spoke with no feeling whatsoever. He was a different man. _He_ was ruining his life still, even though _he_ was gone. It would never change. He realized that now.

"What are you talking about? Of course you will." She didn't sound like she believed herself.

"Teresa." He looked at her coldly. "You can't save everyone."

Her eyes filled with tears. "Patrick, what happened to you?"

"You can't save everyone," he repeated, "especially me. In fact, it would be better if you didn't even try."

She wrapped her arms around him, refusing to believe what he had said. "Don't do this to me, Patrick," she pleaded. "Please."

He calmly disentangled himself from her. "You're just making it harder for yourself."

The tears finally spilled over. "Why are you being so cruel?" she demanded. "What's wrong with you?"

"I have to go," he said, turning toward the door.

A hand stopped him. "No, Patrick," she said firmly. "You're staying here."

He glared at her. "I can't." He couldn't drag her into this. He wouldn't.

"You. Are. Staying. Here. Even if it's just for tonight." Her hand moved to his chest, feeling his heart beat faster under her touch. She smiled and looked up at him. His knew his eyes had lost their heartless glint, and had darkened with desire.

He was definitely staying with her. He was still a man, and he wanted—needed—her. He could tell that she knew she had won. But he didn't care anymore.

He realized that this was the last time they would see each other, and that it was his fault. But he couldn't go back now. He was in too deep. He was ruining both their lives as if it was an everyday occurrence. But he would have to care later, because she was pulling him to the bedroom now.

Before she could open the door, he stopped her. Putting both hands on her shoulders, he looked into her eyes and said, "I love you more than life itself. Do not try to save me. Promise me."

"Patrick—"

"Promise me."

"I promise," she said shakily.

He kissed her, tasting both their tears. He hadn't known he'd been crying. He'd thought he was incapable of it now.

_Surprise_, a soft, malicious voice in his head whispered. _His_ voice.

No. It would never, ever change.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I've been a little... busy... and... yeah. So, anyway, the inspiration for this chapter hit me while I was watching TV. Some baby thing came on and it showed a picture of the husband kissing the wife's baby bump, which I thought was cute, and then BAM! INSPIRATION! Thanks to Simonisthecuttestmentalist (aw, really? tks!), Lisbon94 (I know it was sad, I apologize. Heart ya, chica!), Koezh (thanks so much!), and dirtysnowflake (it only gets more depressing; sorry! :)) for their reviews!**

**Disclaimer: Do not own it. Never have owned it. Never will own it. Reallyreallyreally want to own it. (I didn't realize that Beginning of the End is also a movie title, and I don't own that, either.) **

**Warnings: OOC, almost-suicide (Don't I have a lovely imagination?) (Don't answer that.)**

**This is dedicated to my cousin's fiancee, Leslie, who is one of my best friends in the entire world and the only adult I'm taller than (Love you, Leslie!), my cousin/best friend, Rachael (one black strawberry! hah), and my 10-month-old cousin, Lillian (I love you, sweetheart!).**

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When she woke, he was gone. This she had expected, but she wasn't prepared for the note he had left behind.

_Teresa,_

_I am ashamed of the way I am treating you and very much aware of how much it hurts. What happened has changed me. I am sincerely sorry for this. If you cannot forgive me, I understand. But please try. For Leslie._

_Patrick_

"Leslie," she murmured. "Oh, Leslie…"

**Three Years Ago**

She heard him sneak up behind her, but pretended not to, letting him have his fun.

His arms wrapped around her waist. She smiled.

"Hey, baby," he said playfully, kissing her cheek. He bent and kissed her swollen belly. "Hi, baby," he whispered.

"It's a girl," she told him before she could stop herself. Damn. She had planned to tell him later.

Oh, but the smile on his face made her realize that just then had been the ideal time to tell him.

And there was something else she had to tell him that she was certain wouldn't have him smiling.

"I… I already thought of a name," she said quietly. His smile faded. She hated when she was right. "Is that okay?"

"What is it?"

"Leslie Rachelle." He looked at her, startled. "I thought that if I got it close enough to their names, you'd still accept it," she explained nervously. His daughter's name had been Lilli, and his wife's had been Rachael. If he didn't like the names she had chosen, he could change them. She knew how much more important her pregnancy was to him than herself, and she understood why.

But that was then, and this was now. He had promised (more or less) to put the past behind him and move on with her.

And here he was, hesitating. She should have picked a different name. This was a terrible idea—

"It's beautiful," he murmured.

Her heart soared. "You really like it?" she asked.

"Yes. It's perfect." He hugged her and kissed her forehead. "I hope she has your eyes, and your smile, and—"

"Not my hair," she interrupted.

"Why not?"

"I want her to be blonde, like you. Curls and all."

"I always knew you were jealous," he teased. "Okay, I said two things I hope she has of yours. One more of something you hope she has of mine."

She thought for a moment, then said, "Your gift."

He laughed loudly. "My 'gift,' huh?" he said. "Are you positive you could handle it?"

"You're the one who knows how to control it," she said. "You'll teach her how to use it."

"Teresa, it's not something you inherit," he explicated. "Hell, _you_ could learn it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that it's something you learn, and it's easy."

"I don't have time to learn anything right now," she muttered. "I have to get to work."

"Teresa—"

"Patrick, we've talked about this. I'll stay at CBI, no action or danger, until I'm six months in. Then you'll have me all to yourself." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "I have to go. Love you."

"Love you, too." He kissed her. "Be careful."

"Always am."

Who would have known: the one day she wasn't careful, she almost died. Almost.

But Leslie Rachelle Jane hadn't been so lucky.

**Present**

She reread the note, and only then noticed the lack of an "I love you." A single tear fell onto the paper, smearing the ink in "Leslie."

What she wouldn't give to go back to that day and prevent what had happened. Maybe if she had the _first_ time, the love of her life wouldn't have left her. Maybe her then-unborn baby would be two-and-a-half years, twenty-seven days, nine hours, three minutes, and seven seconds old.

And maybe her life would be the one she had always dreamed of.

Ten seconds.

"I love you," she whispered to the air around her. "I miss you," she murmured to the dust motes floating through space. "I hate you," she hissed to herself.

Twenty-seven seconds.

Her life would never be perfect; of that, she was well aware.

But would it be too much trouble for something decent to occur more than once a year?

She couldn't do this. She couldn't live like this anymore.

She was going to end this. There was nothing left for her to live for now… Unless _he_ walked through the door and a child with green eyes and curly, blonde hair toddled in after him.

But she knew that wasn't going to happen. She stood up and found her jersey, slipping it on as she walked to the bedroom door. She made her way downstairs and to the drawer where she kept her Glock. She pulled it out and cocked it, putting the barrel to the side of her head. She tightened her grip on the trigger.

Looking around her beloved apartment, her gaze locked on a picture on the wall.

Her in a wedding dress. Him in a tuxedo. They were kissing.

Her grasp on the trigger loosened. Her eyes wandered to another photo: They were both laughing. He had a hand on her pregnant belly. Her hand was resting on his.

She took her finger off the trigger and put the gun down.

What had she been thinking? Just because her life wasn't the way she wanted it be—yet again—it didn't mean she had to kill herself. She would get through it. She always got through it.

She just wished she had someone to get through it with.

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**A/N: I don't hate Leslie, I just named the dead baby after her. I don't hate Rachael, I just named the dead wife after her. I don't hate Lillian, I just named the dead child after her. (wow... just... wow. No other comment about what I just wrote...) **

**Please review, I really need reviews right now... I am operating on half an hour of sleep (and no brains, as my friends like to say) today. Curse addicting energy drinks!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry sorry sorry! I do try to keep up, I really do, but it's not **_**my**_** fault Verizon is slow in getting to the boondocks! When they finally do, I'm hoping that I can UD much faster. Or maybe I should just keep making you guys suffer… nah, I love you too much to do that! ;)**

**I just went back through and read the other three chapters and it almost brought me to tears! And—er, I'll just be shutting up now. You're welcome.**

**Disclaimer: Asking me if I own The Mentalist is kind of like asking me if I know President Obama: Both answers include the word, "No," but one also includes the phrase, "Why would I want to?" Guess which one. (Sry, ppl who like him!)**

**Warnings: OOC (always) and maybe language**

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He turned onto another unmarked road, ignoring the fuel gauge that was slowly moving toward the "E." He had to get away—from the police, from his old life, from _her_—and he had to get away _now_. He had ditched his cherished Citroën long ago, borrowing a beat-up sedan from the driveway of a house that appeared deserted. Except it hadn't been, and the car now had three bullet holes in the trunk. It still ran, so he didn't care.

He didn't even know if he was in California anymore. And if he wasn't, where was he? Arizona? Nevada? Mexico? He winced, remembering the last time he'd been in Mexico. It had been with the woman he loved… the woman he was leaving behind.

Shaking his head, he returned to pondering over his location. Was he in Washington, headed for Canada? West, bound for the ocean? Maybe he was simply going around in circles. Wherever he was going, he didn't know where he was. He didn't _want_ to know where he was.

Without warning, _her_ image appeared in his mind. She was sitting by the window in what had formerly been their apartment, with tears streaming down her face. She was waiting for him; she knew he would come back. He _had_ to come back.

Growling in frustration, he sped up, hearing the sedan creak in protest. He couldn't think about her—not now, and not ever again. She was part of his past, and he intended to keep it that way. He wouldn't let her be dragged into this.

Another picture formed, one he had no recollection of: she was beside him, holding his hand. They were walking on the beach. Neither one of them spoke. They didn't have to.

"Dammit!" he yelled, stomping on the brakes. The tires squealed as the car came to a stop. Turning off the car, he got out and walked to the side of the road. He realized he was near the ocean; he could smell the salt water and hear the waves. But instead of soothing him, they enraged him.

_Why couldn't his past just leave him alone? _

Angrily kicking a stone into the brush, he stormed back to the car, getting in, but leaving the door open. As he looked at the landscape around him, it dawned on him that he had been here before. Even though it was nearly pitch-black out except for the headlights of the sedan, he recognized this place. _She _had taken him here once, when their relationship had been blossoming. He'd all but forgotten it. Abandoning the car, he made his way up the road until he came to a huge tree. The names of people, places, and who knew what else had been carved into its trunk. He placed his hand on the soft wood, feeling the indentations in it, searching for one in particular…

When he found it, he traced it over and over, memorizing how it felt, recognizing the _T_ in her name, the _P _in his, the curve of the heart around them. His eyes started to blur, and he let them. What was the point of trying to prevent the inevitable?

He sank to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. _What had he done?_ He'd ruined everything… He had been going to start a new life with her, forget what had happened and move on. He loved her. He had to go back to her and try to make her forgive him. She probably hated him. If that was the case, he would have lost another person he loved, but this time, the pain would be much worse. Rachael, Lilli, and Leslie had died; they were gone for good. But Teresa… she would still be there, but it would be as if she wasn't.

He wouldn't be able to live with himself knowing that he had driven her away.

In his jumbled mind, a memory surfaced, one he had tried to forget…

**Three Years Ago**

He was sitting on the sofa, drinking his tea like any other day while he waited for her to get home. He had finished setting up the nursery, and was excited to show her. She had gotten out of work about ten minutes ago, but she wasn't home yet. She had probably stopped to pick something up from the store. But she would have called—

The phone rang suddenly, and he lunged for it. "Hello?"

"Jane."

"Van Pelt?" he asked in confusion. She sounded as though she'd been crying. "What's wrong?"

"It's… it's Lisbon…" Her voice dissolved into hoarse sobs, and the connection ended.

His heart plummeted to his feet. _Oh, dear God, no._ His teacup fell to the floor, shattering as he jumped up and raced for the door. _If you take her away from me…_ Getting into his car, he took off toward CBI. When he was less than a block away, he noticed smoke billowing from what seemed to be the parking lot. He sped up, dodging other cars and cursing when he clipped one with his mirror. _She'd promised to be careful. _

He pulled into the parking lot, jumping out of the car before it stopped. He saw her team rushing at him. They were all in tears as they told him what had happened.

They'd been walking to their cars together, talking about the baby: what name had been chosen, who her godparents would be. She had been the first to leave the group to go to her car. As soon as she touched the handle, the whole car had exploded, making her fly backwards, slam into another car, and hit the ground. They had taken her to the hospital about two minutes ago. Her condition was critical. If she lived, she probably wouldn't be able to return to work.

_If she lived…_

"What… what about Leslie?" he asked, his voice merely a whisper.

No one knew.

Without another word, he turned and went back to his car, tearing out of the parking lot and to the local hospital. Running to the front desk, he asked where her room was, but was told she was in surgery. He asked when he could see her and was told that he'd be notified at that time. Kicking the desk in frustration, he stalked over to a chair and sat down. Even though he tried not to, he eventually fell asleep.

After two hours of dreams filled with bitter laughter and blood, he woke up in a cold sweat. A nurse was shaking him, saying, "You can see her now, room 121." He thanked her and hurried to an elevator.

When he got to the room, he was nearly sick. She was covered in bruises and burns, bandages covering her head and a cast around her right arm. What he found odd was that she was awake, staring straight ahead as if in a trance. Was she in shock? Why wasn't she being treated for it?

"Sweetheart?" he said softly. She didn't respond. He walked to the side of the bed and sat down in the chair there. Putting a hand on her shoulder, he murmured, "Teresa?"

She blinked and turned her head. But when she saw him, she flinched away and slid to the other side of the bed, whimpering.

"Honey, what's wrong?" he asked worriedly. "I'm not going to hurt you—"

"Yes, you will," she whispered. She sounded terrified.

"Why would I hurt you?"

"Because I… I…" She trailed off.

"Teresa, what happened?" He reached out to caress her cheek, but she jerked back.

"I lost Leslie!" she wailed. "I _lost_ her! She's _gone_!"

He felt faint and gripped the side of the bed for support. _Leslie was gone?_ This wasn't real… this was another nightmare…

But he wasn't waking up.

**Present**

"Leslie," he murmured. "I'm so sorry, honey." _But I'm going to make it right._

Swiping the back of his hand over his eyes, he stood up and walked back to the car. He got in, did a U-turn, and started back the way he came. He couldn't believe he was returning to her. He hadn't planned on it. He was risking his life—and hers—for love.

He was making either the right decision or his last.

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**A/N: I have just found out that my aunt is getting internet and she is my neighbor! *squeals* TKS VERIZON! Hope you liked this one, in my POV it keeps getting worse... Meh, whatevs! Whether you liked it or not, please review! Thanks so much! **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: FINALLY! This thing is almost done! WOOT! Ahem. Sorry. This one's a lot more upbeat than the other chapters. The last chapter will be sort of sad, but mostly happy. All of the characters I write about will have happy endings. I'm like Jane Austen with a better haircut. ;D As you can see, I'm in a much better mood now. I blame kittens and Metro Station. Anyhoo, here we go!**

**Disclaimer: Read the last one! Seriously! You'd think they'd understand that I don't own it after you tell them one time! Sheesh! (And as for the last disclaimer, I was just joking about President Obama. It would be really cool to know him.)**

**Warnings: OOC, language, and a miniscule amount of fluff (it's back!)**

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After her little incident with the gun, she had curled up on the couch and tried to sleep. She soon gave up and instead dragged a chair to the window. She sat down and looked at the street below, waiting for his familiar car to pull up. She knew it would eventually.

She fell asleep, of course.

Her dreams were of him: some were memories, others were what she wished could have happened.

In one – a memory – he was carving their names in a tree. Then they had walked to the nearby beach and watched the sunset and the moonrise. That had been so long ago…

A different, more recent memory came to her: when she had first found out that she was pregnant. They had both cried. It had been one of the last times she had seen him smile.

In another, she was cradling a baby in her arms. At first, she thought it was Leslie, but it was a boy. He had dark hair, and his eyes were deep blue. She knew his name was Gavin. He was so tiny… But where was their daughter?

"Leslie!" she called. "Where are you?"

"Here, Mommy!" A beautiful little girl came into view, pulling her father behind her. She was blonde with green eyes. An angel. A perfect angel.

She looked into his eyes as he came closer. He was the happiest she'd ever seen him. He took her into his arms, being careful of Gavin, and hugged her.

"I love you," he murmured.

"I love you more," she answered. She kissed him, making Leslie laugh in delight.

She woke up suddenly, coughing and choking on her tears. She wanted that in real life. She wanted a family to care for and to love. The chances of that happening now were slim to none. But she still had hope. As long as he came back, it was possible.

Soon she was asleep again. But this sleep had no dreams, for which she was thankful. After an hour or so, she woke up once more. She didn't know why, but she thought she'd heard something. A sound made her jump.

Someone was in her apartment.

A second before she was going to grab her gun from the coffee table, she saw who it was and nearly fainted. She stood up on wobbly legs. "Patrick?"

He smiled at her. The cold anger that had been in his eyes the last time she'd seen him was gone.

"Why did you come back?" she whispered.

"I had to. I'm sorry I put you through this."

"You should be." She found her strength and ran to him, embracing him and burying her face in his chest. "Don't ever leave me again. Ever. Do you understand me?" She was crying now; they both were.

"Yes, ma'am," he murmured, laughing breathlessly. "I'm not leaving again." Then he was serious. "Have the police been here?"

"Yes. I told them everything."

He stared at her in shock. "What…?"

"I told them what you told me." She smiled up at him. "You were at your house in Malibu, cleaning it up a bit, and he walked in. He was an intruder. He tried to harm you, so you killed him in self-defense. You ran because you were scared that this was exactly what would happen. They believed every single word."

"But I didn't…"

"They don't have to know that."

"I'm not going to court."

"Neither am I."

He looked confused. "You're running?"

"With you."

His smile could have lit up the universe. "I love you." He kissed her. "So where are we going?" he asked her.

"Anywhere but here."

"Sounds good to me. But can I sleep first?"

She sighed dramatically. "I suppose."

They both went upstairs. He didn't bother to undress. He wouldn't have been able to, anyway, as he collapsed on the bed immediately. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. She covered him up and turned out the light. She kissed his forehead before she left the room.

When he woke up, they would pack their things and leave. They would finally be able to start over again. They would be leaving a lot behind. They wouldn't be able to say goodbye to everyone at CBI. But they would be together.

Before, she had thought that this whole mess was the beginning of the end of everything. She was finding out now that it was simply the beginning of everything. There was no end unless you made one.

She went downstairs and found a map of the United States and a pen. She sat on the couch and began circling cities. When she finished that, she went online and found maps of other countries: Canada; Mexico; Ireland; France.

As she did this, she thought about the only place she really wanted to go. Her mother had told her about it when she was very young. She scanned the map and found it, drawing a star over it. For the first time in a long time, she wondered about her mother: if she was watching her daughter, and, if she was, if she approved of what she was doing. She smiled at nothing in particular.

"I love you, Mommy," she whispered, using the term of endearment she hadn't uttered since she had been six years old. She looked at the map, at the star she had made, and felt a single tear slide down her cheek. "And you, too, Dad." No matter how much her father had messed up, he had always apologized. And he meant it every time.

An hour passed, and she was still sitting there, waiting for him. Another hour, then two. Finally, when she was about to go check on him, he came downstairs, rubbing his eyes.

"Ready?" she asked him.

He nodded, smiling warmly.

She got up and tried to walk past him, but he caught her and hugged her tightly. "I love you more than you will ever know," he breathed.

She answered him by kissing him. "Now are you ready?" she asked when she pulled away.

"When you say, 'ready,' what exactly do you mean?" He grinned wickedly. "Ready for what?"

"You _know_ exactly what I mean. That can wait."

"That's your outlook on it."

"Therefore, that's how it's going to be."

"You haven't changed a bit, my dear." He kissed her.

"I could say the same to you, darling," she retorted. "Let's go." She pulled on his hand.

"Where?"

She sighed as she muttered, "The bedroom. There, happy now?"

"No."

She pulled harder, but he didn't move. "Don't you ever quit?" she asked in exasperation, secretly pleased that he was himself again.

With one light tug, she was back in his arms. "Not if you don't want me to," he said in a low voice.

"Patrick, please. Later, I promise."

Grumbling, he followed her. They began to pack, and not just the necessities: pictures and other keepsakes were included. They didn't want to leave anything behind that didn't have to be.

They didn't have a plan. They didn't bother making one. They simply wanted to make their own choices when the time came to do so.

And they did.

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**A/N: Next is the epilogue and this baby's done! Please gimme more lovely reviews! I love you! Please?**

_**Love is the only sane and satisfactory answer to the problem of human existence.**_

**P.S. I didn't come up with that^ awesome quote. Idk who did. I blame the Internet for my slight ignorance. **

**P.P.S I tried to submit chapter another chapter of Jalousie, and I got it up and I was editing it, and then I realized: IT ONLY HAD 516 WORDS! I FINISHED IT LAST NIGHT! ARGH!**


	6. Epilogue

**A/N: What we've all been waiting for: the epilogue. Yay or nay? Meh, idk. Here it is! This is kinda different from the other chapters. You've been warned. I want to thank everyone who stuck with me (and is still sticking with me) and I apologize for forcing you to read my overly-long and mostly-boring author's notes. Thank you thank you THANK YOU! You are the BESTEST! I love you! Now, onward!**

**Disclaimer: Is it your job to remind people that they don't own something? (Back to the President Obama thing: I'm not kidding! I want to meet him!)**

**Warnings: Language and OOC (and that little thing up there^^ that can't really be counted as an official warning) Oh, and a **_**very**_** healthy amount of fluff! **

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**One Year Later**

Van Pelt noticed the envelope taped to her computer when she was organizing her desk, preparing for the long day ahead. Curious, she detached it and opened it. After reading the first line of the letter inside, she gasped.

"Rigsby! Cho!" she called. "Come here!"

"I don't want to," Rigsby complained lazily. Cho smacked him upside the head. "Was that necessary?"

"Come on." Cho got up and pulled a chair over to Van Pelt's desk. Muttering under his breath, Rigsby did the same.

"It's from _them_," Van Pelt whispered. That made even Rigsby quiet.

"Where are they?" Cho asked.

"I don't know," she answered. "The envelope isn't postmarked and there's no return address." They all looked at each other, then silently began to read the letter.

_First, I want you to know that we miss you. I can't tell you where we are; only that it is beautiful every day and we are safe and healthy. _

_Second, I wanted to tell you that when I say, "we," I mean all four of us. We are expecting twins. So far, they are both healthy. Patrick is more excited than I am, because he has done this before. I'm just worried._

_I'm sorry this is so short, and very overdue. There will be more letters, I promise, but I don't know when you'll get them. If we are in the area sometime, we will try to visit._

_P.S.: Look in your email, Van Pelt._

"Aw," Van Pelt gushed, "she's pregnant!"

"I wonder where they are," Rigsby murmured.

"Van Pelt, check your email," Cho said.

"Okay. Hang on." Van Pelt clicked the icon, and sure enough, there was a new message from an unknown address. She selected it, and a picture popped up on the screen. They were standing on the beach at sunset. He had his arms around her waist; she was resting her cheek against his chest with her eyes closed. It was hardly noticeable that her abdomen was somewhat swollen.

"Beautiful," Van Pelt sighed.

Cho smiled, but didn't say anything. He knew when and how to appreciate something like this.

"Who took the picture?" Rigsby asked, earning him a smack from Van Pelt and a death glare from Cho. "What?" he asked moodily, rubbing his arm where she had hit him. "I was just asking." He got up, moved his chair, and sat down out of harm's way. It wasn't that he didn't understand the emotion that Van Pelt and Cho felt when they saw the picture; he just wasn't that kind of man. He only wanted to see them again.

**Six Years Later**

"Boys!" she called from the doorway. "Time to clean up!"

"Aw, Mom!"

"Matthew," she said, "come on. Get your brother."

Matthew groaned. "Brandon! Come on!"

"Okay." Brandon walked out of the waves, his fists full of seashells. Once he hit the sand, he sprinted past Matthew and stopped in front of his mother. "Mommy!" He held up his hands. "Look what I found!"

"They're gorgeous!" she exclaimed. "Where did you find those?"

"In the ocean, silly."

"Really?" She pretended to be confused. "But I thought you found them in a tree. Isn't that what you told me last time?"

Brandon giggled. "No, Mommy!"

"Okay, then. But keep checking those trees." She kissed his forehead. "Now go wash up."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thank you, sweetheart." She tousled his hair as he walked by. Matthew tried to slip by her, but failed. "Matt, please behave. We taught you better."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry." He looked up at her, his sparkling blue eyes reminding her of his father. "But I was chasing a crab!"

"You were? What kind?"

"I think it was a lobster," Matt said matter-of-factly.

She laughed. "Honey, lobsters and crabs aren't the same."

"They aren't?"

"No."

"I knew that."

"Okay. If you can find it again tomorrow, show me. Then we can find out what it is."

"All right!" he said excitedly.

"Go get cleaned up, please."

"Yes, ma'am." He raced past her.

"Don't make a mess in the bathroom!" she yelled to no avail. She could hear the boys playing in the water, probably splashing it all over her nice clean bathroom. Oh, well. It was only water.

She closed the door and walked out to the shoreline, gazing at the setting sun. Rio was so beautiful; she hoped her mother was proud.

His arms wrapped around her waist from behind, holding her against his body. "You'd better go wash up, too," he murmured.

"I was inside all day, cleaning," she answered. "I don't need to wash up right now."

He turned her so she was facing him. "You will after I'm done with you," he said huskily.

"About that…"

"What now?" he whined, grinning at her.

"I think we do that too often."

"Why would you think that?"

She looked into his eyes. "Because I'm pregnant again."

He didn't even blink. "Then we'll just have to be more careful, won't we?" He kissed her very _un_-carefully. They heard muffled laughter from the house. Then: "Ew! Stop it, Matt, stop! Mommmyyyy!" Brandon wailed. "Dadddyyyy! Matt's trying to kiss me!"

"Kiss him back," she yelled. She took his hand and began walking down the beach with him. He knew where she was going. There was a certain sand dune that they went to frequently. They would sit in front of it, watching the waves. It was where Matthew and Brandon – and most likely this new child – had been conceived.

"I thought you said we did this too much?" he asked.

She grinned wickedly. "When did I say that?"

"You didn't." His smile matched hers. Rio was beautiful, but it was second best compared to his wife. "You do realize that when we get home, the boys are going to wonder where we were and why we're covered in sand."

"We were…" Her eyes glittered mischievously. "…wrestling."

"God, I love you," he said breathlessly, kissing her. _This,_ he thought, _is just another day in paradise._

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**A/N: Sayonara, **_**TBOTE**_**! Hope you liked it! (Nothing after the asterisks was supposed to happen. It just did.) Please review, I would like it ever so much ;D Off to work on Jalousie some more… oi. Also, I just wanted to say something about this chapter: I have no idea where I got the name Matthew, but Brandon is named after my crush. *blushes* Why did I even type that?**

_**Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence.**_


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